


Wildlife Sanctuary

by goodnightfern



Series: 2017 Supply Drops [8]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: ??? - Freeform, M/M, No Timeline, collaring, extreme fluff no mercy run
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 03:43:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12522208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnightfern/pseuds/goodnightfern
Summary: Ocelot doesn't know much about giving presents.For prompt 52: "Ocelot is tired of hurting and playing all those parts and he just wants to feel like he belongs somewhere for once. He sits Kaz down and says he wants to be collared by him."





	Wildlife Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [korona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/korona/gifts).



The bedroom tucked behind the signals room-cum-office is more of a glorified closet and it stays dark and stagnant like one. Here’s where all of Kaz’s stacks of carefully organized clutter can finally run wild. Where everything gets to fall apart. Even smells like him: the inside of his coat, the cheap deodorant, the greasy meat and evaporated gin and natto and whatever else he likes. No one’s sweat but his own - except for the odd bit of company, but Ocelot is familiar enough.

Oh, sure, Ocelot complains about the smell all the time but it’s really not that bad. That smell means Kaz can turn on his little red lamp and safely take off his glasses for once. Rub the grit and grease that builds up beneath them from his eyes.

It’s the end of another arduously long day of being completely fucking exhausted, driving from platform to platform, putting out fires started by idiots, when Kaz stumbles into his bedroom and just starts throwing off his clothes. He doesn’t turn on the lamp until he’s halfway to bed, and that’s the only thing that saves Ocelot’s life.

Ocelot isn’t entirely a stranger in here, of course. But he wasn’t supposed to be back for another day, and Kaz has certainly never caught him sleeping before. Especially not in his own damn bed.

A sleeping Ocelot is like another person entirely. His hair is spread out on the pillow and he’s not quite snoring so much as wheezing. Now Kaz sees his clothes draped over the room, the cowboy boots neatly placed beneath the bedside table.

If Kaz sits on the bed to take off his prosthetic he’ll wake him up.

Thankfully Ocelot is still a light sleeper, so when Kaz hovers over him he opens his eyes. Doesn’t sit upright, doesn’t say something snarky, doesn’t even open his eyes all the way. Just sighs and says, “Miller.”

“Ocelot.” Kaz pushes his hip and Ocelot obliges by rolling over to make room for him to sit. “Do you mind?” he asks, lifting the peg leg.

“Allow me.” Ocelot slips off the bed. He stifles a yawn when he kneels down at Miller’s feet and begins removing his prosthetic, the wrappings. It’s been digging into Kaz’s stump all day - Kaz has gained weight, he’ll have to get refitted soon - and Kaz isn’t sure why he stops him.

Ocelot just seems so faded. He only blinks when Kaz moves his hands away. Watches Miller remove it himself, rub the red aching lines. He lifts a hesitant hand to Miller’s stump, waits for Kaz to nod before touching it.

The gloves are off. Kaz didn’t notice in the dim red light but the gloves are off and Ocelot is kneeling before him. Gazing up at him with empty, weary eyes.

Something must have gone wrong on his latest mission for Mother Russia or Cipher or whoever. That’s the part of his life Kaz never asks him about, isn’t allowed to ask about. He has no idea who Moscow's Adamska or Washington's Adam are and doesn’t care.

He isn’t entirely sure who this Ocelot on his knees before him is either.

Ocelot won’t stop staring at him. His hands move from the stump to Kaz’s thighs. Massage the taut muscles there, worn out from the constant work of limping up stairs. Sighing, Kaz decides to just let him do it. Maybe Ocelot’s only high or something. Who knows.

“I got you a gift,” Ocelot says, thumbs digging into Kaz’s inner thigh. Even his voice is off.

Kaz silences his groan, but still. Ocelot has a warped idea of what a gift entails. “If you upgraded our entire fleet of choppers again…”

“Kaz,” Ocelot says, going right for the first name without preamble. Not without a strange warmness, enough to shut Kaz up. “Believe me, this is only for you.”

He removes one hand to pull a thin box from under the bed. Soft leather like a jewelry box. Kaz swallows his words and opens it.

It’s… a collar. Rich, buttery leather. Fine embossing on the border - a floral design, maybe. Soft suede on the inside. “Kind of small for DD.”

“It’s meant for my neck.”

“Not much of a present if it’s for you, is it?”

“Miller. It’s for you to give to me.” Ocelot grips his knees. Kisses each one. Nuzzles at the divots around his kneecaps. “For you to put on me.”

Oh.

Kaz picks it up in his hand. There’s no spikes on it or anything wild. Nothing particularly fancy or exciting. Obviously high-quality leather, but it’s too simple. Since when has anything about Ocelot been simple?

“This some kind of fetish thing? Never took you for the submissive type.” They haven’t even done anything like they used to in a long time. Never needed to talk about why Kaz might suddenly have a problem being tied up or chained down during sex.

Ocelot mouths at the crook below his knees. Moves up his inner thighs, gentle and persistent.

What is Kaz supposed to do with him when he's like this? “Just… hold your hair back.”

Ocelot’s hands seem to regret leaving Kaz’s thighs, but he leans back on his knees and obediently twists back his hair. Tilts his head to bare his neck so that Kaz can lean forward and drape it around. The buckle is much smaller than the one on his own belt that took him long enough to be able to fasten. Before he can ask for a hand - hah - Ocelot drops one of his own to hold the collar taut so Kaz can fasten it.

It looks weird on him. Kaz strokes where it meets the thin skin over his throat.

Then Ocelot drops his head down into the space between Kaz’s thighs and shudders. Brings his hands to Kaz’s hips and squeezes, kneading at where he’s gotten all fat. Kaz reaches for the nape of his neck, the grey hair that falls silken between his fingers, wondering.

 _Fragile_ is the last word Kaz would ever use to describe a man like Ocelot.

“So what now?” Kaz asks thickly after a long moment. “You want me to order you around or something?”

“Mm. If you like.”

There’s a lot Kaz can do with that. Things he can save for later when he isn’t on the verge of passing out.

“All right. I order you to come here.” Kaz pats the bed. Scoots to make room for Ocelot to crawl back up and lay down beside him. Kaz lifts one of his arms, drapes it over himself, and pulls up the blanket. “And for the love of Christ, don’t complain about the smell for once.”

Ocelot hums, content, and squeezes him. Kneads his belly in the way that always makes Kaz squirm because he’ll never have that six-pack again, really, there’s nothing there to see.

“So… this is some kind of sex thing, right?” Kaz asks. Just to make this whole scene even more awkward.

“If you want it to be.”

“Ocelot.”

“What do you want me to say?”

The truth? Ocelot never tells the truth. His lies are well woven, perhaps soft enough to wrap around Kaz, but they stay put. The only way this whole thing between them works is if Kaz respects that.

“Whenever I wear this, I’m home.” Ocelot's lips are right against his skin.

Home. That’s another red flag. Ocelots are distinctly wild animals. Mistake them for a house-cat and they’ll tear your face off. No, Revolver Ocelot has never been anything Kaz could own.

“Only in this room,” Ocelot adds, which is more like it. Sounds like one of those little mind games he loves.

“Hmm. Not around Mother Base?” Kaz lets a hint of teasing creep into his voice. “You could cover it up with your scarf. No one would see.”

“Wearing this,” Ocelot says lowly, “would definitely impair my ability to work.”

“I know, I know. Only in this room.”

His other arm is trying to worm under Kaz’s middle. The cot is too firm to really accommodate that. “Smells like you in here,” he says, right up against Kaz’s ear.

“Come on, I just said - if you wanted me to shower you should have -”

“I wasn’t complaining.”

Kaz turns around beneath Ocelot’s arm to look at him. The other arm slips around and draws him closer. The lines under Ocelot’s eyes are relaxed, his lids half-closed. His smile is barely there. One of his rarer ones.

The collar looks good on him. The dark leather stands out against his skin. His neck isn’t slender, but the collar sits so snug it might as well be.

Kaz kisses him with his eyes open just to watch his lashes flutter. Ocelot sighs his full name. For once, the cowboy accent doesn’t completely ruin it.

“Revolver Ocelot? Sorry. Revolver ‘Shala-’ ”

“No,” he says, firmly. “Just Ocelot.”

Once upon a time Ocelot wasn’t an ocelot. There’s a man with a name somewhere who would never call this rank closet of a bedroom home.

“Okay.” Kaz kisses him again, a dry peck on chapped lips. “Well. If you’re my dog now, bring me the newspaper along with some fresh coffee in the morning. The good stuff, not the mess hall crap.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And… and a blowjob, too. First thing.”

“You’ll wake up with a mouth on your dick, Miller. Promise.”

Sounds like a good place to start. Sounds like something Kaz could get used to. He laughs, kisses Ocelot one more before rolling back over. “Now turn off that light and get some sleep.”


End file.
